He smiled, his dark lashes still wet. “Extra mascarpone. From when we made tiramisu earlier. It has to chill before we eat it.”
Lauren tasted it, closing her eyes with pleasure.
“Sweet enough?” Joe asked.
She looked at him and nodded. “It’s just right. Everything here is just right.”
When at last the evening meal was all but ready to serve, Joe turned to his mother.
“We’ve got it from here, Mama,” Joe said. “Why don’t you get yourself ready to enjoy the feast. We’ll bring it out in twenty minutes.”
Greta’s flushed face glowed. “Thank you. Lauren, you come out of here, too. We’ve wrung enough work out of you for now.”
Lauren smiled. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
“The kitchen?” Greta dabbed her forehead with the end of her apron.
“With you,” Lauren said, surprised at how strongly she meant it. “With all of you.”
This was a family. This was a home. And they’d made her feel like it was hers.
“I’m glad you invited her.” Pop inclined his head toward the swinging door that led to the dining room, where Mama and Lauren waited. The soft hum of their voices revealed they were deep in conversation.
“Me too,” Joe said.
Pop nodded, as if satisfied that there was nothing more to say. He added the last of the salmon crostini to the platter and declared it was time to eat. As he carried out the appetizer, Joe’s stomach clamored for all the courses that would follow: risotto, linguine, pan-fried swordfish, roast pumpkin with herbs, and sautéed spinach and mushrooms.
Joe entered the dining room behind his father and lit the candles placed about the room.
“I’m right on time, I see!” Doreen announced, pausing in the doorway. Joe pulled her chair out for her, then pushed it in as she sat.
Greta warmly welcomed her to the table. After introducing her to Lauren, she added, “Doreen sells flowers at Union Square. We haveher to thank for the beautiful arrangements here and throughout the parlor.”
“Beautiful, as always,” Joe agreed, looking at Lauren as he took his seat across from her. Whatever his mother had said to her obviously put her at ease. Her blue eyes sparkled as she admired Doreen’s handiwork. The candlelight burnished her brown hair to a coppery glow. Someone must have made a joke, because she laughed. It was a light, musical laugh, as if she hadn’t received a threatening note—or an almost threatening one—at all.
But all he could think of was that if anything happened to her, it would be his fault for tangling her up in this forgery business. She hadn’t asked to become involved. She could have said no.
Maybe she should have.
Lauren gave him a curious smile that made him realize he’d been staring. He shook himself from his reverie and looked again at the bottles used as vases for the holly. He frowned.
He had seen those bottles before.
The labels had been soaked off the glass, but if he wasn’t mistaken, those bottles were an exact match for Ray Moretti’s favorite drink. The wine he’d boasted of hoarding from France before Prohibition began almost six years ago.
Joe wondered why he hadn’t noticed before now. More importantly, where had Doreen gotten so many?
Adding this to his mental list of questions to pursue later, he bowed his head in time for his father’s blessing of the meal shared in honor of Christ’s birth.
CHAPTER
23
Lauren insisted on returning to the apartment after dinner on Christmas Eve, despite the Caravellos’ invitation to stay in one of the unoccupied boarding rooms. Cleo needed to be fed, after all.
“You can still change your mind.” Joe stood by the door. “Now that Cleo’s had her meal, you could bring a change of clothes and come back with me.”
Lauren rinsed Cleo’s water bowl, refilled it, and set it on the floor next to the cat’s food dish. “Is this because of that note I found in my office today? It had no bite to it,” she said. “I’m not afraid to be here alone. I didn’t always have roommates. Besides, this building is secure, and whoever wrote that note is surely celebrating Christmas, too. If he’s planning anything else, he’ll wait until after the holidays.”
